Unraveling the knots
by Kataang1337
Summary: Oneshot sequel to Picking up the pieces. Haunted by his past once again, Will is torn between love and fear. Will Tessa be able to help him face the shadows?


**A/N: **Here it is, the sequel to _Picking up the pieces. _It should have been up yesterday, but I got sidetracked by another idea for the development of this same story and decided to give it a try. However it seemed a little far-fetched and slightly OOC, so eventually I scrapped the idea.

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare owns Clockwork Angel.**

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><p><em>Will smiled. The moment was perfect; he was alone with Tessa, who was gazing at him with the most loving expression in her grey-blue eyes. There was a light feeling of ecstasy that seemed to radiate out of nowhere, and for an instant he wondered if he were in Heaven.<em>

_Tessa twined her arms around his neck, shyly leaning up towards him. Reflexively, his arm which was resting at her waist pulled her close as he reached down to capture her lips with his. It could have lasted forever; he could not tell. And when they finally broke apart, Tessa's eyes were shining as she whispered, "I love you."_

_It seemed so right, that without a second thought, he whispered the words back at her. The moment the words left his lips, everything changed. The light around them faded into darkness as tendrils of black smoke drifted everywhere. Tessa let out a terrified yelp and her eyes widened in fear as a dark tentacle lashed out, pulling her out of Will's grasp._

"_Tessa! No!" Will yelled, reaching forward to pull her back. As his fingers closed upon her outstretched hand, she turned to dust. A scream echoed in the darkness as he drew a seraph blade from his belt. The blade shimmered to life, but provided no illumination against the dark fog._

_A familiar cruel laughter rang out in the silence. "William Herondale, you have brought this upon her."_

Will bolted upright, heart hammering wildly. Beads of perspiration ran down his neck. He looked around to find himself in his own quarters at the Institute. A bright stream of light from the window illuminated the room. Slowly, his breathing eased.

"Just a dream," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear residual traces of the nightmare. Intrinsically, however, he knew that the dream could well come true; it had already happened once, in the Sanctuary. The scene that had plagued his dreams since surfaced yet again, accompanied by those emotions which he had yet to gain mastery of.

_Calm yourself, Herondale,_ Will chided himself as he climbed out of bed, pausing only to let out a stream of curses when the sheets tangled with his legs.

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><p>Tessa looked up at the sound of footsteps. Will stepped into the dining room, his tangled hair in an untidy mess. She felt herself flush as recollections of the previous night flooded into her mind and looked quickly away.<p>

Will, however, continued walking as though he were oblivious to his surroundings, never looking up at her. For a moment, Tessa wondered if he was back to ignoring her. In that instant, he finally looked up, and she could have sworn that his eyes appeared to light up momentarily at the sight of her.

Encouraged, Tessa greeted him warmly with a smile. "Good morning, Will."

"Morning, Tessa." Will's tone was bright. A slight smile played at the edge of his lips. The cheerfulness did not extend to his eyes, which seemed to be dark and brooding.

Though Tessa should have been relieved that he had replied, she felt uneasy. Will's eyes lingered on her for longer than necessary—and in a different situation Tessa would have been blushing, but the guarded expression in them was oddly disconcerting.

"Will?"

He blinked, and the odd look in his eyes vanished. "Forgive me. I know it is bad form to stare, but I can't help being distracted by such a beautiful lady," he grinned crookedly, a light sparkle reaching his eyes. Even though she was not convinced by the swift change in his eyes, Tessa could not help but flush at his compliment, combating the urge to avert her gaze.

As Will settled into a seat, mentally congratulating himself for his quick wit, he noticed Tessa watching him with a thoughtful expression. "Is something wrong?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I should be the one asking you that," she replied quietly.

_Curse it,_ Will thought. _Why does she have to be so observant?_ He had been dearly hoping that his infallible charm could somehow tamper with Tessa's memory; it _had_ worked on every girl before Tessa, if Jessamine were excluded from the list, of course. He sighed heavily, quickly searching through his options. Outright denial never worked out well; it only clarified that you had something to hide. A lie? _Concealing the truth hardly helps_, a thought at the back of his mind reasoned in Jem's voice. That left the dreaded truth.

_Fine mess you've gotten yourself into, William Herondale,_ Will cursed himself silently, swallowing hard as he felt the weight of Tessa's patient gaze on him. _Tell her. Before it's too late_, the voice in his head rushed him. He silenced the voice forcefully.

"Tess," he started, not noticing the effect the nickname had on her. "I am…" he paused for a long awhile, trying to find the right word. It was not easy; after having walled himself up with his emotions for years, expressing his innermost thoughts had almost become a foreign language. "…worried."

"Worried? What about?" she asked, confused. And then she gasped, feeling a sudden jolt of realization. "You're worried about what others will say about us—because I'm a…a warlock?"

"No." Will shook his head slowly. "As a matter of fact, I enjoy a good scandal," he added as though it were an afterthought, smiling slightly. Tessa gaped at him—surprised that he still had the capacity to jest in spite of the situation—before realizing that their conversation had gone off tangent.

"Then what are you worried about?" she inquired, taking a mental note not to let Will run wildly off with the conversation again.

"You," he admitted after a long moment of hesitation. He looked at Tessa, as though trying to gauge her reaction.

"Me?" She blinked.

Will nodded solemnly. "I'm worried about your safety."

Tessa stared at him, trying—and failing—to see any telltale signs of mockery. She sighed. "Will, Mortmain thinks I'm dead. He won't come bursting into the Institute to get me—at least not until he finds out otherwise."

"It's not Mortmain," he said in an even voice that almost seemed devoid of feeling. _It's me_, he thought. _If I continue loving you, I will get you killed_.

"Then what is it?" Tessa felt impatient; it seemed to her that Will was being ridiculous, fretting over nothing. "I am not stupid enough to go wandering around London unprotected, you know."

"Tess, I don't mean that." Will said, not looking at her as he spoke. There was something frightfully distant about his emotionless voice that made Tessa shiver involuntarily, evaporating all of her previous rage. "It's just that—it's not safe for you to be with me."

"What do you mean?" she asked softly. The sense of foreboding was almost tangible in the atmosphere, impossible to ignore.

"Tessa." Will turned to meet her gaze. His eyes were intensely cold, like slivers of dark blue ice. His face was still, tense like the rest of him. "There is something you don't know about me; something…dark, something that could—will hurt you."

Tessa felt an eerie chill in the air that had nothing to do with her surroundings as she remembered Sophie's words. _There's something dark in him. Something black and dark that he's hiding. He's got some sort of secret, the kind that eats you up inside. You mark my words._ So that's why he acts as he does, Tessa thought. She knew that she should shy away—just as how Will would be expecting her to—but she found herself inevitably drawn in by the notion that she was closer to understanding Will than anyone had ever been.

"Is that why you always act as though you don't care?"

"Does it _matter_?" Will half-shouted furiously, hands clenched tightly into fists. Tessa flinched. There was an edge of hatred in his words, hatred so controlled that she somehow knew it could not possibly be directed at her. Silently she watched as Will breathed heavily—as though he had been running for miles—trying to regain composure.

"You should stay away from me," he finally said impassively, turning away again. Tessa opened her mouth to protest, only to be silenced as Will continued talking. "It was a mistake—for me to succumb to my feelings; to lead you on knowing that it would not end well. I should never have let myself love you."

"Love's fair wondrous. Where's the harm?" Tessa asked quietly. She had always been a firm believer of love, of its purity and how it had the power to change people for the better. How anything as perfect as that could be wrong, she could not understand.

"Love is cursed, Tessa. _I_ am cursed. I will bring about the deaths of the ones I love," Will spat acidly, feeling the darkness of the past rising up against him. A distant whisper—that wretched voice that haunted his nightmares—reminded him of the fact that there was something dark in him. He allowed it to wash over his being, drawing the strength he needed from the shadows to extinguish the flicker of hope that Tessa gave. It was necessary, or so he told himself.

"Will," Tessa whispered, almost choking as tears fought to break free of her control. It hurt to see him abandon hope—perhaps even more than all of his cruel words put together. "Love isn't cursed. You're not cursed." She refused to accept it. Perhaps she had seen it all along—that love, like every other thing she had once believed in, was nothing more than a dream, a fairytale—but to allow the one remaining hope which she still clung to be ripped away like that…it was more than she could handle.

Will laughed. It was a cold and detached sound that could have come right from the Devil himself. "If I'm not cursed, then why did my sister have to die?"

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><p><em>It was a quiet night. Twelve year old William Herondale lounged in the armchair, reading by the light of the gas lit lamp hanging from the wall. It was silent in the library, until the sudden <em>thud_ of a book falling caught his attention._

_Will looked up from his book, and smiled. Curled up in the armchair opposite to him, by the fireplace, was his sister Cecily. Her head lolled to the side, resting on her shoulder. The book she had been reading lay on the floor, open. Shaking his head slowly with amusement, Will extracted himself from his seat, moving to pick up the book his sister had dropped._

_As he stood, a sudden, subtle force pulled at his mind. For a moment he thought he could hear a voice, calling out to him softly. He paused, blinking. Must be my mind playing tricks on me, he thought._

_Will took another step forward, only to find the force pulling at him stronger than before. Following the direction of that invisible tug, he found himself looking at a box of golden wood—the one his father had expressly forbidden them to touch—sitting on top of the mantelpiece at the fireplace. Will cocked his head to the side, staring intently at the box. It seemed normal enough, and yet as stared, the compelling urge to reach for it—as well as his curiosity—grew._

_What harm, he thought, could a little peek cause? He took a stealthy step forward, and cringed when the floorboard creaked. Half expecting his father to walk into the library at any moment, Will took another step and reached out with trembling hands._

"_Will?" The familiar small voice sounded unnaturally loud in his ears, almost scaring him out of his skin. He turned to find Cecily sitting up. Stifling a yawn, she asked, "Wh…what are you doing?"_

"_Nothing, Cecily," Will said in his most persuasive voice with a smile. "Just go back to sleep."_

_Stubbornly, his sister got to her feet. She took a good look at Will, and frowned. "Father told us not to touch that box."_

_He grinned. "But Father isn't here now, is he?" When she did not answer, he continued, "Come on, Cecily. Don't be a wet blanket. You know you're curious about what's in there too."_

"_Will, I don't think that's a good idea." Her voice wavered with uncertainty. William knew he had won. Triumphantly he brought the box down from the mantelpiece, surprised at how light it was. There was a jangling sense, like as though something bad was about to happen, but he ignored it—at the moment, enduring his father's wrath seemed worthy in exchange of satisfying his curiosity. Next to him, Cecily was lightly tugging on his sleeve. "Please, Will. I have a bad feeling about this."_

_If he heard her, Will gave no indication. He examined the front of the box, where a pattern was burned into it—a snake, devouring its own tail. As he rested his hand on the lid, he felt it emit a strange humming, vibrating with unseen energy. A light whisper resonated within him, urging him to open the box. Will was only too happy to oblige._

_Suddenly everything went cold. A slow wave of paralysis gripped Will as the box fell from his hands. He heard Cecily give a slight whimper and knew that she, too, was affected. Tendrils of black smoke slowly drifted from the open box, bringing along with it the pungent smell of sulfur._

"_Ah…free at last." A low hissing voice emanated from the smoke. With a startling horror, Will realized two things: one, that it was the same voice he heard in his mind, only stronger; and two, he was facing a demon—creatures that people like him, who possessed the blood of an angel, were meant to kill._

_The formless smoke gradually twisted into a dark shape that resembled a head. "Well done, little Nephilim boy."_

_Will wanted to open his mouth—to ask how it knew he was 'Nephilim'—but the crippling cold had frozen every muscle in his body. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Cecily, wide-eyed and shivering with fear. And then the dark fog swirled around him, almost plunging his world into complete darkness._

"_I ought to thank you, Shadowhunter," the demon whispered into Will's ear in a way that almost caused his blood to freeze. "But gratitude is not something that is familiar to me." The smoke pulled back, gathering into a gargantuan mass over the wooden box which was once its prison. Will squinted as his eyes readjusted to the dim light of the library. _

"_Such fear. How delightful." The dark form slowly drifted toward Cecily, who stared on, dumbfounded._

_A wave of warm, powerful rage washed over Will, breaking him free of the cold. "Don't touch her!" he yelled, hands clenched tightly into fists._

_As though shocked, the demon halted, and turned to him. "Protective, are we?" A peal of vindictive laughter rang out in the silence. "Foolish Nephilim. Love will not protect her." As if to prove its point, the mass of black smoke surged at Cecily._

"_No! Cecily!" Will darted forward, reaching for his sister. As he did so, a thick haze descended upon everything. A piercing scream cut through the miasma, shattering the desolate silence of the night._

"_Cecily!"_

"_You have brought this upon her, William Herondale." The ever shifting shadows seemed to be taunting him. "She could have lived, but you destroyed her chance. Love is a curse, mortal. It kills. And this is why we demons are immortal—we do not possess such mundane emotions."_

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><p>"I'm responsible for Cecily's death, Tessa. I killed my own sister." Will slammed his fist against the wall, head lowered in shame.<p>

"Will, it wasn't your fault." The words were familiar. Too familiar.

For a moment he was twelve again, curled up in a corner with his hands over his ears as his heartbroken parents repeated those words over and over again. It's not your fault, Will, his mother cried. If there's anyone to blame, it's me, his father said. Will fought the words out of his head, screaming. They didn't understand. It was him who opened the box. It was him who put Cecily in danger. It was him who failed to save her. The demon was right; he did kill his own sister.

Gentle hands pried his hands away from his ears. "Will, listen to me. Please." The voice was seraphic, a soothing melody that managed to drown out the voices. Quietly, he obeyed.

"It's not your fault that Cecily is gone," the angel's voice enunciated every word clearly. Will shook his head silently. _Why couldn't anyone understand?_ If he had listened to Cecily and left the box alone, none of this would have happened…

"Will, look at me," the angel whispered, breaking through his thoughts. Will slowly opened his eyes, and found himself staring at Tessa through his clouded vision. Her cheeks glistened with streaks of tears. It then registered that he was crouched against the wall of the dining room, and Tessa was on her knees in front of him, holding his hands in her small ones.

"You didn't mean for it to happen," she said softly.

He tried to refute that—like the way he used to refute any words of comfort—only to realize that she was right as he slumped onto the floor. In the silence, all he could think of was how the tears did not belong on her face. It was wrong; she should not have been crying. He yearned to reach out and wipe them away. And yet his hands were shackled by another part of his consciousness—a part which remained convinced that it was a curse to love. They stayed this way, until Will finally found his voice.

"Tess, you should just leave me alone," he croaked, making an attempt his hands from hers. "I'm not worth it. You'd be better off without me."

"Don't say that." Her fierceness surprised him. "Without you, who knows where I would be now? And Mortmain could have gotten whatever he wanted from me…"

"Have you counted the number of times I've put you in danger?" Will asked weakly. He knew it was likely a poor argument—there was an easy counterargument for this—but he had hardly any mind to care. His wit had deserted him, having been distracted by Tessa's close proximity. He could faintly smell the light floral scent that seemed to cling to her hair and skin.

"And I suppose you have also been counting the number of times you saved my life?" Tessa countered stubbornly. It was a wonder, Will thought, how she could sound both so sarcastic and demure at the same time. His eyes wandered, passing from her face down to where their hands were still linked, before settling on the soft curve of her lips.

Will caught himself just as his body started to lean toward Tessa on its own accord. _What is wrong with me?_ All the self-control, all the shields that he had been building up over the years had appeared to become undone the moment he had revealed his past to Tessa.

"Will." Tessa must have thought she had sounded harsh, for she now spoke without a hint of vehemence. "I could say I owe you my life…"

For an instant, Will almost smiled, reminded of how many girls in novels tended to end up with the hero who had rescued them. The only difference was: he was no hero. "You don't owe me anything," he said diffidently. On the inside, however, he was frantically struggling for control of his own mind.

"You don't owe Cecily anything either," she whispered.

"That's different."

Tessa ignored him. "Think about it this way, Will. What if you were the one who had…died? Would you want Cecily to blame herself and go ruining her own life as you're doing now?"

Will was silent. It was shocking to see the sense in Tessa's words, terrifying even. It was one aspect that he had never once entertained. Could it possibly be that his sister would not blame him? "But if it wasn't for me opening that box," he thought aloud.

"You tried to save her," Tessa added quietly, unsure if he could hear her. "She knows you tried, and that's enough."

_I suppose she's right,_ Will told himself. _It never occurred to me…_

He was jolted out of his musings when Tessa shyly planted a quick kiss on his cheek. She quickly tried to get to her feet, blushing heavily. Will could still feel the lingering burn that her lips left. "Wait," he said, pulling her back. With his heart thundering wildly in his chest, he slowly lowered his lips until they met hers. It felt different this time; somehow everything felt much stronger.

They seemed to decide to break apart at the same time. "Tess, I…" he began, and froze as the words he meant to say caused the remnants of his earlier nightmare to echo in the back of his head. The words were there—and he meant them—but the leftover fear stopped them in his throat. Next time, he thought wearily as he instead said with a smile, "Thank you."

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><p><strong>AN:** Can you believe that I had actually lost track of my original plot halfway through? It's a good thing I had a rough draft of the ending written down for me to refer to (:

And as usual, I could not leave the fluff out of this, not with so many opportunities to slip them in ;)

Review, and you'll get a virtual cookie :D

**P.S. **Extra cookies for those who can recognize the line I borrowed from Tamora Pierce!


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